That Fking Hurt
by Momma-Ran
Summary: Kenny gets his wings. Craig confesses his love for Tweek. Bradley says goodbye to Butters. Christophe meets Damien.


"Check it out guys!"

Kyle and Stan look over to see their best friend Kenny leap off the roof at a running start. Both feel a the tight grip of panic clutch at their insides as they rush over to the edge. Kenny is falling, falling, falling down to the ground. His laughter floats up to them and Kyle turns to Stan. "Is he smiling?"

This worries both of them. Why would Kenny just fling himself off a building; and ask them to watch, no less? Stan has no reply for this immediately, but after a second he says, "Kenny is flying." They watch with fascinated horror when Kenny's flight ends. Kenny's laughter cuts off abruptly as his bones break and organs spill onto the pavement thirty stories below them.

"Idiot. You don't have wings." Kyle chokes out. His voice cracks. Tears stream down his face and drip onto the roof beneath his feet. Stan puts a hand on his shoulder but it hardly comforts the redhead. Their friend just died! Kyle tears his eyes away from the gore that is Kenny to look at Stan. Stan is crying too.

The noirette inhales shakily and gives Kyle a small smile. "Maybe now he'll get his wings."

* * *

><p>"Tweek?"<p>

Fear in the voice of the one who sees the world in shades of gray.

It makes Tweek giggle madly.

Quickly he covers his mouth with a red dyed hand to prevent that one from finding his hiding spot.

"Tweek, please!"

Please what? Tweek wants to ask but remains silent.

Waiting.

Watching.

Tweek swallows when Craig passes by his hiding spot.

"Tweek! I don't care if you've killed people!"

Tweek cocks his head to the side curiously.

If Craig found out that means he hasn't been covering his tracks as well as he thought he was.

The red dye drips down when he squeezes his hands shut.

He calms himself.

This is Craig who has come knocking at his door.

Craig can be trusted.

"Please come out Tweek!"

Tweek doesn't move.

He isn't sure whether or not Craig really believes what he is saying.

Its one thing to dream of murder, its another to commit it.

The same with keeping the murder secret.

"Tweekers?"

Tweek hasn't heard that nickname in forever.

The footsteps stop at the other end of the room.

Even from his hiding spot Tweek can feel Craig's sorrow as though its a tangible thing seeking him out.

The old him would have screamed.

The new him just watches.

"Please come out Tweekers. I just want to see you."

There's that nickname again.

It belongs to the old Tweek.

Craig's Tweek.

Back before Tweek's hands stopped shaking and his screams died off.

Tweek raises his red dyed hands to examine them in the dim light that comes from grimy windows.

Long boney fingers, sharp nails filed into claws, no hint of a shake or a twitch, covered with glistening red blood.

These are his hands.

They are not the same hands that have been burnt by coffee, turned numb from cold, or held by Craig.

"Tweek, please come out. I have something important to tell you."

The bloodstained hands are lowered and golden eyes raised to stare out between two crates at the noirette.

Craig is looking around helplessly.

He has no idea where Tweek is.

There are a million hiding places here, all of them could be hiding the blonde.

Only one of them is.

Tweek hears Craig's sigh from across the deathly silent room.

He hears the nervous swallow and the rustle of fabric as Craig shifts.

"Tweek!"

So much desperation in that single yell.

Its not at all like the screams of Tweek's victims.

"Tweek I love you!"

The boy who sees gray.

That's how Tweek has always thought of Craig.

But now he sees color just like everyone else.

"Tweek please come out. I love you so much, Tweekers. I love everything about you."

Tweek's fingers brush the ground, searching.

They brush steel and curl around it, oblivious of the blade cutting into the pale skin.

He stands and leaves his hiding place.

Craig is facing away from him.

Tweek's footsteps are silent.

Craig has no idea that Tweek is sneaking up behind him.

When he is a few inches away Craig senses his presence.

"Tweek!"

Craig turns, his face lighting up at the sight of the blonde he so foolishly sought out.

"Tweekers, I love you. I love you so much. I love everything you are. I love -"

Craig's expression twists into one of confusion and pain.

The knife in Craig's stomach twists and is jerked upwards between his ribs.

Fresh dye runs over Tweek's hands and down his wrists.

Craig's mouth moves, trying to form words.

"I-I...love the...old...you..."

Just what Tweek suspected, but that twitchy freak is gone.

"A-and the...the...new...you..."

Of their own accord boney fingers untwist themselves from the handle of the blade.

His feet take him back a few steps.

His shock and pain and terror at what he just did is mirrored in Craig's sapphire blue eyes.

"...Tweekers."

The name now applies to both Tweeks and they both want to answer the call.

Craig's hands are shaking when he reaches for the knife lodged in his torso.

They shakily pull it out.

Tweek shakes his head and advances.

Craig's free hand reaches for him and snakes around to the back of his head.

He pulls Tweek forward.

Their lips meet.

Craig tastes like death.

Tweek lets out an involuntary gasp at the sudden pain to his stomach.

Briefly he looks down to see the hilt of the knife sticking out of his body, Craig's hand wrapped around it.

For a moment he doesn't understand.

Why is the dye on Craig's hands?

Then he looks into Craig's sapphire blue eyes.

In them he sees the future they could have had.

Craig had not been lying when he said those things only moments ago.

Tweek lets out a tiny noise, something akin to a sob or a scream.

Craig smiles.

His smile falters, fades, and he crumples in a heap on the bloody ground.

His hand doesn't let go of the blade, and it drags down to the waistline of Tweek's bloodstained pants.

Tweek sinks to his knees.

He runs shaking hands through Craig's hair, highlighting the black with red.

Tweek tries to speak, but a lump in his throat stops the words from coming.

With shaking hands Tweek gathers Craig against him.

Tears stream down his cheeks but on the inside he feels numb.

Their blood mixes and flows into the drain, leaving a wet trail behind it.

Tweek holds Craig until he can't anymore and lays down with his ear against a quiet chest.

Tweek takes one last look at Craig's face then closes his eyes and waits for death to finally claim him.

* * *

><p>Bradley smiles at Butters as the cute blonde walks towards their car with his family. They are heading back to South Park and Bradley will mos likely never see the blonde boy again. It hurts so much to think that his first real love and the person able to talk him down from committing suicide is leaving forever. Here Bradley is stuck at this stupid camp.<p>

Butters drives away, smiling and waving at him from out the back window. Bradley waves and smiles back but on the inside his thoughts have taken a dark turn. As soon as the blonde is out of sight Bradley returns to their room. He will get a new Acountibilibuddy now. Aside from still being alive, it will be like Butters was never here.

He doesn't cry for fear God is watching. Even though Butters said God must be a little bi-curious himself...It doesn't matter. The one boy Bradley is sure he wants to spend his life with is gone forever. From beneath his mattress Bradley pulls out a length of rope. One end is lose, the other is knotted in a circle. This was his backup plan, should he survive the bridge or get caught before he could jump.

"I'm sorry Butters, but its not worth it if I can't be with the person I like-like." Bradley pulls the chair to the middle of the room where the ceiling fan is and fastens one end of the rope to it. He gives it a few good tugs to make sure it won't come down or snap then slips the open side over his head. Bradley tightens it to the point of it being uncomfortable then looks down at the chair beneath his feet. All he has to do is kick it away.

Footsteps racing down the hall send a flash of panic through him. No one can stop him now. They stop outside his door. Bradley struggles to kick the chair away. When the door opens he sees a flash of bright blonde hair and a teal jacket. The chair decides at this point to vanish from beneath Bradley's feet.

Bradley hears the beginnings of a scream that is probably going to be his name. The rope tightens painfully around his neck, which snaps to one side. Suddenly the physical pain is gone. But he still feels the pain of the loss of Butters. At least when he was alive he could have made an effort to go and see him, but now Bradley is dead and in Hell from the looks of it.

"I'm sorry Butters."

* * *

><p>"Who ze fuck are 'ou?" Christophe growls. He's strapped naked to a table. The noirette with red eyes has already cut away his clothing. Now those red eyes are gleaming in a way that makes Christophe nervous.<p>

The noirette can't be much older than him, maybe seventeen. Eighteen at the most. He is tall and lanky with long boney claws. Yeah, fucking claws. Fangs can be seen in that twisted grin of his. What the fuck is this kid? He looks vaguely familiar but the brunette can't place him. "Tophe," The nickname is in a voice that sounds like gravel in a blender. It sends a tiny prick of fear down his spine. "I'm hurt. After all the time we've spent together, you don't remember me?"

"All ze zime? I 'ave never seen 'ou een my life." Christophe racks his brains for any time he may have seen this teenager. The red eyes sparkle like rubies and it brings on a terror that Christophe can't rationalize. He looks around for some way to escape but sees only walls of various shades of red and brown. His stomach lurches when he realizes its not just any red and brown, its new and old blood.

Pale boney fingers form a heart shape over where the teen's heart should be, Christophe suspects this guy doesn't have a heart though. The fingers break apart, cutting the heart in two. "I'm heartbroken, Tophe. You've forgotten all of our wonderful times together." The teen says. His lips part in a wicked fang-filled smile that seems to keep stretching.

"I do not know what wonderful zimes 'ou speak of." He watches the teen bite his lip so hard blood is drawn. "'Ou 'ad betaire let me go." He can practically hear the 'or what' even though the teen doesn't say it out loud. "Who are 'ou?"

The teen shakes his head. He has the most disappointed expression on his face, as though its really getting to him that Christophe doesn't know who he is. "Maybe this will help you remember." The sound of tearing flesh reaches Christophe's ears and he sees something black rising behind the teen. Glistening red blood drips from them like rain onto the floor. The wings extend twenty feet on either side.

"What ze fuck?"

Black lines – no, they are stitches – break from the skin and crisscross over the pale skin until there is no white showing. The slender teen grows larger, taller and a bit stockier and the grin widens before black thread loosely sews the mouth into a permanent grin. A long blood red forked tongue slides between the threads to lap at black lips. A black tail flicks back and forth, its tip pointed like that of a succubus.

The only thing left of the teen standing in front of him are the ruby red eyes.

Terror envelopes him. Absolute and pure horror takes his breath away as the memories – his mind had tricked him into thinking they were dreams – come flooding back. Memories of the large voodoo-like doll demon that has been plaguing him for years with whispers of love and a touch of pain. "No! No! I_No!/I _NO!" Christophe thrashes wildly, trying to free himself from his binds.

The thing laughs. "I knew you would remember me, Tophe!" It walks over to him and runs a claw down his cheek. Stinging pain and blood wells up. It drips into his ear and clumps his hair into spikes. "Haven't you missed me? I missed you."

The things name comes to him, Damien. "Fuck 'ou, Damien." he gasps. The thing – Damien – tilts its head to one side. It licks its lips again and runs a hand down Christophe's chest, stomach, thigh. The places burn like he just slid down a large rope at a high speed. Christophe is very aware of how close Damien's hand is to his dick.

"Only if you insist." Damien laughs. Its claws move to unbuckle the belt, unbutton the pants, and unzip the zipper. Oh god no. Damien is covered in the thread, everywhere, even his cock. And its HUGE. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. That was a stupid thing to say. His brown eyes flit to the rope burns on his torso. That was a bitch. This, this is going to be so much worse.

Damien spreads his legs apart. The forked tongue flickers out and licks his other thigh. At first nothing happens. Then a sharp pain, like getting a paper cut, makes Christophe aware of a cut. Warm red blood flows freely from it. Damien literally has a sharp tongue; so sharp that you only feel the pain after-wards. To prevent himself from hyperventilating he snarls out "Burn een 'ell beetch!"

This makes Damien give pause as he hovers over Christophe's body. If a giant voodoo-doll can look surprised Damien does. "Didn't anyone tell you?" Christophe is silent. He won't give Damien the satisfaction of an answer. "We're in Hell, Tophe." The thing smiles. "Isn't that great? Now we can be together forever." Then Damien thrusts into him. Christophe lets out an agonized scream.

Christophe curses in French until he can't physically speak the pain is too much. It seems to last forever. When Damien is finished he pulls out, member dripping with black tar-like cum. Christophe feels like he's going to be sick but swallows it.

Forever. Damien is going to fuck him raw and kill him a thousand different ways forever. Christophe has never wanted to live more in his life.


End file.
